


The Tale of a Haunted Castle

by xel



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Halloween AU, Having fun with these halloween AU ideas, Witch Mercy, can't stop won't stop probs should stop, enchanted armor pharah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 21:03:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16333433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xel/pseuds/xel
Summary: “I am Fareeha Amari, royal guard of the castle.”“You are the enchanted armor, haunter of the castle on the hill,” says the witch, “the village has stories about you. I’ve heard quite a few of them.” The witch smiles, not unkindly, but at Fareeha’s expense none the less. “I am Angela Ziegler.” The witch removes her hat and curtsies and is, in no uncertain terms, utterly devastating. “The Witch of the Wilds, I think they call me.”





	The Tale of a Haunted Castle

Fareeha watches, through paned glass, the bare trees outside shutter against the frigid, October winds; old wood cracking with the strain of movement. A crow flies from the branches off and down toward the village, black feathers like oil in the reflection of the nearly set sun.

She doesn’t feel the cold around her; nothing that remains of her registers the falling temperature of the approaching night, the chilly breeze, the damp air. Fareeha has long sense forgotten what it feels like to feel, what flesh and fever are or how they interact with the world. Tied to the rusting plates of the armor she once wore with pride, but now wears of obligation to a curse fifty years in the making, her senses are dull and far off.

But this does not stop the enjoyment of existence. What she can see and what she can hear are often beautiful; the warm tones of changing leaves, and fires, the orange tabby tucked into the rafters above, they are all lovely things. The crunch and the crackle and the purr, welcomed as well.

When she walks aimlessly through the long corridors of the duke’s castle, Fareeha marvels at the intricacies of the metal work on the legs of the accent tables and candle stands, twisted cast iron weaved into leaves and knots; how the patterns in the red and purple rugs seem less like fabric and more like liquid, the way they run seamlessly into one another. Even the stone work, chipped away in areas to carve out the family crests of first the duke, and then all those who pledged loyalty to him.

Fareeha stops at the end of a long hall to admire the crest inlaid for her - the eye Horus watches from the wall, and it reminds her of her life.

If it had all happened again, if Fareeha has lived as she had, had been hired and agreed to serve the duke, had fought for his honor with every inch of her will, with ever swing of her sword, with every breath, she would not change a single thing. Would only ask the Gods with more ferver to spare her from the curse of the sorcerer who bested her.

“Then perhaps I would have joined them in the next life,” Fareeha says. The blue glow of her hand fades past the wall as she touches the stonework and she only knows the friction when her gauntlet makes a scraping sound against the gray brick.

“Mrow?” The ginger cat replies, watching with yellow eyes from the rafters; nothing is visible of it but those eyes and a tail which flickers from the shadows, languid. Fareeha is certain it is a familiar; a spirit from beyond which protects her and might help her if she only asked, though she hasn’t. Fareeha turns her attention to the cat; her helmet the only indication that her head has moved.

“Unhelpful, as always,” she tells it. The cat blinks, but otherwise seems undisturbed.

“It cannot be comfortable up there. Those beams are half your size and splintered. I am beginning to think the only reason you are there is so that you can look down on me.”

Fareeha is not above the notion of insanity - that having conversations with a cat is absurd by all accounts, but the company is nice. The cat chirps at her, it’s tail flicks this way and that, perhaps with humor at her indignation.

Fareeha will retort, the air around her which becomes her vocal cords for conversation tightens into a stream, preparing for her retort, but then dissipates into a failing draft.

In the main foyer below them, the echo of the rusted hinges of the main entrance, forced open, echos, carried by silence up the spiraling stairs and through the vacant corridors of the upper level.

The cat jumps down from the rafters, ears perked and tail high in alert. Fareeha watches it disintegrate into an orange dust and flow through the halls towards the source of the noise.

Fareeha follows, her soul, iridescent and blue, willing the pieces of her armor into a shape, willing that shape into a walk, she follows the cat down the corridor, past the crests and beautiful metal work, down the curving stairs.

She stops just short of the first landing; standing like decor of the castle. Watching.

The cat apparates at the foot of a woman. A witch, more aptly described.

The witch is dressed in brown leather and a black, rumpled hat; she is blonde, and beautiful, and benevolent, as far as Fareeha can tell. Though she has thought less from more and been wrong before.

The witch holds a worn broom in one hand, and though composed, she shuts the doors behind her with a sort of weariness that comes with age, and with power. Just as the doors creak shut, a crow flies through and lands on the woman’s shoulder. Fareeha waits to see what will happen.

Her cat weaves through the legs of the witch, rubbing against her ankles. The witch kneels down to pet the creature and smiles.

“So the tales are true,” says the witch, loud enough that Fareeha suspects she knows she is not alone. “There is magic in this castle.”

The cat meows.

Fareeha steps away from her position against the banister, hidden by the notion that a suit of armor might reasonably be there.

“Hello,” she says, her voice swirls in the air like a winter wind outside a window; an effect of the curse. Even her voice is not her own. The witch looks up towards her. There is a brief confusion in her expression, and then a profound sadness, and then a removed, kind, formality. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I am afraid my options were limited,” says the witch, “the village in the valley does not take kindly to witches.”

Fareeha remembers the village, her mother and she had moved there when she was young, a lifetime ago; in her mother’s absence, under questionable circumstances, Fareeha had chosen to seek refuge with the duke. His kindness had earned him her servitude. Even then, though, users of magic had been treated with skepticism.

“Nor should they,” Fareeha says, making her way to the bottom of the staircase. Her cat comes back to her, dissipating and rematerializing at her shoulder. “Magic has made that village a hovel, and is the reason the duke that once protected them, and any who might have followed him, are gone.”

“Ah, well, I suppose that explains you,” says the witch. She smiles, though it is a half smile - more an effort at friendliness.

“Yes,” says Fareeha. “I am Fareeha Amari, royal guard of the castle.”

“You are the enchanted armor, haunter of the castle on the hill,” says the witch, “the village has stories about you. I’ve heard quite a few of them.” The witch smiles, not unkindly, but at Fareeha’s expense none the less. “I am Angela Ziegler.” The witch removes her hat and curtsies and is, in no uncertain terms, utterly devastating. “The Witch of the Wilds, I think they call me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I posted this on Tumblr literal moments ago. Usually it takes me days and/or months to post things from Tumblr to here, but I'm just really in the spooky month spirit so ... I hope y'all don't mind. 
> 
> Also, although this is generally the case, I feel like I should point out that I didn't do any sort of editing; I would like to just go on the record as saying sorry in ... well not advance, because this is an end note, but, like, general.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Tale of a Haunted Castle[Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17939189) by [Arioch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arioch/pseuds/Arioch)




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